


more beacon county deputy BINGO

by sinequanon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe, Cuddle Pollen, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: The continuing adventures of the Beacon County Sheriff's Department as they live and work in the madhouse that is Beacon Hills.
Relationships: Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 35
Kudos: 280





	more beacon county deputy BINGO

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have a thing. This story fought me every step of the way, and I'm not entirely satisfied, but I'm also tired of looking at it. It is also mostly fluff.
> 
> A few notes about this one: I make mention of events from the previous stories, but I don't think you necessarily have to read them to enjoy this one. It is mostly chronological, with the exception of part four, and features made-up biographical information for almost everyone, improper childcare, and improper plant care strategies (or the lack thereof).
> 
> Part four also references something called the Red Hat Society, which I think is a strictly American thing. It's a social organization for elderly women, and it's based on a poem where the author talks about how, as soon as she gets old enough to stop caring about what other people think, she's going to do whatever she wants, including wearing red hats and purple dresses.
> 
> Enjoy!

ONE: Cuddles With Cora (and Boyd)

You would think that having everyone on the same page about the not-so-secret secret would be a good thing. And it was, mostly. Having Derek spill the beans to his mother about the department being in the know had saved his dad the stress of doing it himself, and Stiles was all for things that kept his dad’s stress levels down. That meant that he put up with Derek’s awkward tailing for far longer than he might have otherwise and handled Scott’s sad and confused “why didn’t you tell me” face with remarkable aplomb, considering _Scott_ had technically been the one keeping secrets. Peter and Addie came by the station often enough that Addie had her own special shelf in the break room and Peter checked in with his dad on the state of everyone’s BINGO cards every time he visited.

Talia was furious and flabbergasted by turns, and had ultimately retaliated by demanding that the Sheriff accept a BCSD-Hale pack liaison, which wasn’t nearly as much of a threat as it could have been because Boyd was nothing but an asset to their department. He was calm, he was smart, and he was handy. Like right now, when he was trying to pry Cora Hale off of Stiles.

(Because, unfortunately, letting the Hale pack in on the joke also seemed to act as some sort of signal to the universe that the BCSD was ready for even more weirdness, which the department really didn’t appreciate.)

“Could you maybe loosen up there a bit?” Stiles felt like he was barely getting circulation to the upper half of his body, and was genuinely surprised when his werewolf barnacle’s hold eased a fraction, letting him make it to the break room couch before his legs also gave out. With the way she’d all but tackled him to the floor before she’d latched on, he’d expected more of a fight. “I feel like I’m a better cuddler when I’m conscious.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Stilinski, or we’d test that theory,” Cora muttered. She also didn’t let go. Boyd tugged a little, and Cora responded by smashing her face into Stiles’s chest and digging her fingers into his lower back. He was absolutely going to be feeling this aggressive hugging in the morning.

“I told you not to let Laura and Erica go into that part of the woods,” Boyd admonished. “It’s been marked off ever since that incident at the high school.” The werewolf took a step back, and while Stiles would have liked to believe it was so Boyd could get a better look at Cora’s grip on him, Stiles was pretty sure the other man just wanted to avoid getting pulled into the cuddle pile.

“It’s not _my_ fault they didn’t listen! And how was I supposed to know they were going to come home and infect everybody? I escaped as soon as I could.”

Not soon enough, obviously.

“Why come here, though?” Stiles wondered.

Stiles could feel Cora’s grimace against his shirt. “Can you imagine hugging _Derek_ for three hours? No, thanks. Peter would have come too, but Laura got him before he could make a break for it.” Cora shifted just enough to smirk at Stiles. “Plus, it will drive Mom crazy to know I came here. She’s the one that gave Laura permission to ignore the signs in the first place.”

It probably said something about him that Stiles didn't mind that Cora was using him to irritate her mom, but now that the werewolf wasn't smothering him to death, this cuddling thing wasn't half-bad. Unfortunately, that was the moment when Boyd came a little too close. In a blink, Cora had grabbed Boyd and pulled him on top of them, and if one werewolf on top of Stiles was almost too much, two werewolves on top of Stiles was possibly going to rearrange his organs.

Boyd, bless him, tried to fight it, but it was only a matter of time before he, too, was doing his best barnacle impression.

Stiles was _definitely_ going to be feeling this in the morning. Damn werewolves.

<> <>

TWO: How to Win Friends and Influence Little People

Tara may not have been the heartthrob of the Department (Jordan), or the research guru (Stiles), but she had been an officer longer than the two of them put together, and she had seen things. She was an expert at rolling with the punches.

The thing was that Tara Graeme was not the Martha Stewart type. She wasn't a slob, by any means, but she didn't particularly care if her dishware matched or if the quilt on her bed complemented the color of her bedroom walls. She did laundry once a week, dusted monthly, and vacuumed rarely, and she was fine with that.

It also made it pretty obvious when things started changing.

Tara wasn't sure when she acquired her houseguest (and she probably didn't want to know), but one afternoon she left yet another bowl in the sink on the way to a flu-season night shift, and when she'd crawled out of bed the next afternoon, her sink was empty.

A quick check showed that her dishes were clean, and in their proper cabinets.

Stiles might be the station's go-to research guy, but that didn't mean that Tara was helpless, so she was perfectly able to hit the internet like anyone else to look for answers.

(And it was both funny and sad, somehow, that her thoughts immediately drifted towards the supernatural, but really, this wasn't even in the top fifty of weird things she'd seen in Beacon Hills.)

She found what she was looking for almost immediately. According to folklore, brownies were tiny, shriveled little men who did household chores in exchange for milk. From what Tara could tell, a brownie would stay with a family for generations as long as it wasn't insulted.

Why it was in her apartment, Tara had no idea. She probably should have been a little more curious, but she wasn't about to look a gift housekeeper in the mouth, even if it was a supernatural creature.

She made sure to stock up on milk, and looked forward to some extra sleep.

Tara never saw her new roommate, but only a month into the arrangement (and with a little help from Stiles) she had created an efficient system for making sure the milk was out no matter what time she went to work.

This worked perfectly until one day when her sister-in-law stopped in while Tara was at work, and her niece left something of her own behind: chocolate milk.

Tara got home from a double shift later that night and all but collapsed on the couch, only to wake up the next morning to the sun in her eyes from the way her refrigerator was _gleaming_. 

She thought nothing of it until two weeks later, when her niece left strawberry milk behind, and Tara came home to what looked like brand new carpet and an air freshener that the deputy _knew_ hadn't been in her apartment before she left.

Deputy Graeme knew a pattern when she saw one, and she knew how to gather evidence, so that's exactly what she did.

It turned out that brownies (or at least Tara's brownie, anyway) liked variety as much as everyone else. Orange, apple, and grape juices were appreciated, tea was not, and there was now a note in the department's bestiary to _never, ever, ever_ give a brownie cappuccino.

The experiments continued until one day, after she had run through all of the semi-healthy drinks, Tara took a chance and left her housemate Dr. Pepper one morning on her rush out the door; that night, she came home to dinner, still hot, left on the stove.

(Sometimes, Tara really loved Beacon Hills.)

<> <>

THREE: Adventures in (Satanic) Babysitting 

There were perks, Jordan was sure, to being the BHSD pretty boy--he just hadn't figured out what they were, yet. The Beacon Hills Deputy Watch--an actual Facebook page, mind you--was a thin cover for the local housewives to critique everything from his latest haircut (exactly the same as his last three), to whether his latest lunch order was bad for his cholesterol (could hellhounds even have high cholesterol?). He was the deputy most frequently requested by name for all sorts of semi-relevant non-law enforcement problems, and although he didn't mind keeping busy, the staring and surreptitious photographs got old after a while.

Tara and Stiles had their own admirers, of course, but theirs were generally more subtle about it: one, because no one wanted to get on the Sheriff (and their potential father-in-law's) bad side; and two, Tara had a well-deserved reputation as a woman with a taser and the wherewithal to use it.

Jordan, meanwhile, had a reputation as a boy scout with a baby face. He was seen as the _nice one_ in the BHSD; nevermind that he was a decorated soldier and hellhound.

(To be fair, he wasn't sure how many of his admirers would be put off by the hellhound thing. And, okay, if he was being honest, the baby-faced boy scout persona worked for him more than it worked against him. Not that he was going to admit that to either Stiles or Tara or even the Sheriff, who, despite being the best boss that Jordan's had ever had, still smirked at him a little whenever Jordan got sent out on what the department referred to as a "pretty boy run".)

Still, Jordan couldn't help but panic a little as he stared at the _literal infant_ that had been left at the station. The infant in question stared back at him long enough to shove his fist in his mouth, and then promptly fell asleep.

It wasn't as if Jordan was completely unfamiliar with babies, but he froze as a particular line of thought occurred to him. Was this the universe’s revenge for having escaped kitten-in-tree fame? Was it the way that he and Addie had stolen the Sheriff’s candy stash and blamed it on Tara? Or the way he had let the Sheriff eat a double cheeseburger last weekend and not told Stiles? Whatever it was, he was very, very sorry, and if the universe could take its baby back, he’d be eternally grateful.

He blinked, and hoped that the baby was a figment of his imagination. No such luck.

Okay. He could do this.

It took a few minutes of digging, but Jordan finally found the department's baby carrier that had been left over from an unfortunate de-aging incident ( _that will never again be_ _spoken_ _of_!) a couple of years back and strapped it to his chest before he settled the baby inside.

It gurgled at him and fell right back to sleep.

Things had been pretty dead prior to the baby's arrival, but Jordan still considered calling in reinforcements (see: event which shall not be named), before dismissing the thought almost immediately. Tara would punch him at the mere suggestion that she, as a woman, needed to be involved; Stiles was away for the weekend "reaffirming his undying bro-ship" with Scott; and the Sheriff had spent the last week going nonstop and needed the rest. He also hesitated to start the normal process for dealing with an abandoned baby because, a) in all of Jordan's years in Beacon Hills, they'd never had to deal with an abandoned baby; b) it was Beacon Hills; and c) who knew if it was _actually_ a baby?

If any of the newbies on the night shift had anything to say about the baby strapped to his chest, they thankfully kept it to themselves, and the next couple of hours passed relatively quickly. Suddenly, around 2:30 in the morning, a woman came rushing into the station searching for her son.

She zeroed in on Jordan immediately and was next to him and reaching for the baby almost before Jordan had realized she was there.

"...and I am so sorry about this," she was saying, "it was just supposed to be a simple ritual to celebrate Satan and I turned around and he was gone! And he's very bright, and I suppose he must have gotten bored and come to you because, you know," her voice dipped, "hellhound, but we didn't mean to disturb you at work."

She finally stopped to take a breath, and Jordan should have spoken up at that point, but he was stuck on the fact that not only did this woman know he was a hellhound, her baby had seemingly teleported to him because they thought he knew Satan? Or was related to Satan? Or...something?

"...and anyway, feel free to come to any of our celebrations, if that's something you're interested in, or we have a book club that meets once a month in the library, and cookouts, weather permitting."

And without waiting for a response, she gave him her contact information, hefted the baby into her arms, and breezed out the door.

(There was a picture of Jordan and the baby posted to the Deputy Watch page for approximately eleven minutes the next day before the page started glitching badly enough that the entire site had to shut down for a week. When it came back up, the photo of Jordan and the baby was suspiciously absent.)

<> <>

FOUR: Not Your Usual Red Hat Society

The Beacon Hills Red Hat Society was a loose conglomerate of ladies in purple dresses and red hats who liked to use sheer numbers and their status as elders to charm (read: overwhelm) unsuspecting baristas, waiters, and everyone else in town into doing whatever they wanted. The social club (or gang, if you were out of earshot) had been practicing their extortionist racket for going on a decade, ever since Maybelle Beauregard slipped on a wet patch of grass in front of the town’s most popular diner and attracted more attention than she’d ever managed since her budding starlet days out on the east coast. 

(Later, multiple witnesses would say that Maybelle never actually hit the ground, but what the then seventy-year-old lacked in injuries, she made up for in imagination.)

The Red Hats, which until then had consisted of three friends, doubled in size over the next six months, and then doubled again in the next few years. Officially, Noah had no interest in the shenanigans of a bunch of ostentatious octogenarians; unofficially, Peter had recently captured a photo of Maybelle hitting Isaac with her purse, who sent it to Stiles, who then graciously shared it with the rest of the department. 

(Having Peter Hale as a friend and ally came with its advantages.)

Maybelle and her ilk, however, had nothing on what Stiles had dubbed the “League of Fearsome Grandparents”, which consisted of Claudia’s parents, Peter’s (and Talia's) parents, Chris’s mother, Boyd’s grandmother, and Satomi Ito. 

And as much as Noah would like to blame the creation of the LFG on the Hales, he was fairly certain that his relatives were responsible for this one.

At first glance, there wasn’t anything particularly distinctive about the Sheriff’s in-laws. They were the kind of folks who welcomed new neighbors, picked up the occasional hitchhiker, and dropped everything to stay with a struggling widower and his son after their daughter died. They were ordinary people who lived mostly ordinary lives, but with a playfulness and curiosity that would pass from Claudia to Stiles. 

(His in-laws had never made so much as a peep about it, but Noah wouldn't have been surprised to find out that they knew about the weirdness in Beacon Hills before he did.)

It just so happened that on the same day that Stiles's grandparents came to town to visit for his birthday, the former matriarchs of the Argent and Hale families (divorced and retired, respectively) were meeting for coffee at a little shop not far from the station. It also just so happened that Stiles got his sweet tooth from his grandfather, who stopped at the shop with the intent to buy enough pastries to keep himself and everyone at the station on a sugar high for hours.

What happened next varied depending on who you asked, but from what Noah could tell, his father-in-law and Maybelle got into some sort of argument over the last raspberry-filled doughnut and the Hale matriarch--who had disliked Maybelle since the seventh grade--decided to get involved. 

" _And then you day that Ms. Argent pulled out a crossbow and leveled it at Mrs. Beauregard?"_ he'd clarified during the barista's interview.

_"I have no idea where she could have even been hiding it in that outfit."_

_"And then what happened?"_

_"It was weird. Maybelle left, and then Mrs. Hale turned to the gentleman and his wife and asked them how they felt about wolves and the four of them left together._ "

Evidently, they then met up with Mrs. Boyd and Satomi Ito and spent the morning bonding over their mutual distaste for annoying old biddies, and their love of spoiling grandchildren. 

That had been almost a year ago, and thankfully, as far as Noah knew, his in-laws were still human. (He'd been worried when the both of them showed up at the house with cuts on their palms. They had both rolled their eyes at him, but Noah wouldn't put it past either of them to do some sort of blood brother type pact with the town's matriarchs.) Afterwards, he always kept an even closer eye on his in-laws when they came to visit, but not too close; there were some things that he'd just rather not know.

(For example, what exactly had happened to Maybelle's prized petunias last summer, and how did Boyd's grandmother manage to hit that would-be mugger in exactly the right spot to take him down?)

<> <>

FIVE: Feed Me, Seymour

Eugene was Addie's fault, sort of.

To hear her tell it, she'd found a weird coin on the playground and rather than trusting one of her cousins with it, she'd hidden it in one of Stiles's empty flower pots when she visited the station because, a) the police were way cooler than werewolves; b) they were partners now and that's what partners did; and c) the empty pot had looked a little sad.

Unfortunately, she'd sort of forgotten the coin during the next round of Beacon Hills drama, and it had stayed in Stiles's pot long after something else was planted there.

And then Stiles's pet brugmansia ( _it brightens up the place, okay_?) had grown impressively large and had almost eaten a guy's hand.

Sure, the guy was a petty thief, but still.

At that point, after all of the screaming and crying and eye-boggling was done, Addie remembered the coin. After some discussion, everyone decided to leave the coin where it was, mostly because no one really wanted to dig into the bottom of the pot and disturb the station's new attack flower slash mascot.

And really, it _was_ pretty, and it smelled nice, and nefarious characters never suspected it of being able to separate man from limb.

It became obvious pretty quickly that Eugene--his violent tendencies notwithstanding--was not a normal houseplant. The station took it in stride. Stiles's research was ongoing, but Eugene had been proven to growl at any criminal left too close to its pot, purr when his dad properly stroked its petals, and had somehow managed to move himself through the otherwise crowded station on multiple occasions in order to find the best spot for...whatever it was trying to do.

Eugene also visibly disliked cowboy boots, hot pockets, the color teal, and Tuesdays.

(Seriously, the chances of attempted maiming increased 30% on Tuesdays, and anyone who stepped too close while wearing cowboy boots, teal, or smelling of hot pockets would find themselves tripped by invisible vines, covered in sticky pollen, or both. The smartest repeat offenders learned quickly to only commit crimes near the end of the week--waiting to be booked could be a hazardous and highly traumatic process, otherwise.)

A nicer person would have probably taken their attack brugmansia home at some point, but considering everything the department had been through over the past few years, Stiles figured they could afford to be a little bit mean. Plus, they needed to make up for the lack of claws and fangs somehow, right?

Also, Stiles's monster flower gave him his first BINGO win in a couple of otherwise difficult months, and he was not about to get rid of proof of his victory anytime soon. Unless the Sheriff told him to. 

(Fortunately for Stiles, his dad was as fond of Eugene as Eugene was of him.)

Two months after Eugene started chomping on people, Stiles was gifted a cactus named Bernard who, after a brief time at the sheriff's station, also started developing a personality. Thankfully, Bernard was a non-violent cactus, but his flowers only bloomed to the smell of butterscotch and the sounds of 90s power ballads. 

A month after that, Stiles found a half-dead orchid and decided to nurse it back to health. Stiles took Charlotte to the station, introduced her to her plant brothers, and within a few weeks the orchid was captivating the crooks her older brother missed.

(By that time, Stiles was 84% convinced that Charlotte had developed mind control powers. No one had ever seen Charlotte try to eat anyone, but that didn't mean that she _couldn't_ if she felt like it. Stiles was just glad that Charlotte liked him best, though that could be because he played Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_ for her on repeat while she recovered. Budding supervillain or not, Charlotte was a classy lady.)

The deputies (and the Sheriff, too, sometimes) got perverse pleasure from walking their most problematic visitors through "The Jungle" and waiting for the ensuing fallout, and if various people (named Peter and Addie) kept offering them new plants "for protection _and_ decoration", well, it would be impolite to refuse them.

Because, as Addie said, even overprotective attack flora deserved to have fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no plans to do any more of these, but I never planned on this or the Halloween one either, so who knows? All of my WIPs are still fighting me at the moment, so we'll see what happens next month.
> 
> I know that I am months behind in responding to comments, but please know that I love and appreciate each of you, and I will reply eventually. In that vein, I noticed that someone left me a comment last month asking to play around with something I had written. To that person, and anyone else who is interested, the answer is always yes. You don't even need to ask, though it's always a thrill (for all authors, I imagine) to know that your work has inspired someone else.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


End file.
